


the Life of a Conflicted Cop - the Prequel

by iamyourgodwaitno



Series: Peterick as a cop and a mob boss [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Peterick, Prequel, Short & Sweet, cop!joe, cop!pete, cop/mob boss au, don't actually i'm broke, i cannot write action for the life of me, kind of, like the rest of my fics, mob boss!patrick, peterick au - Freeform, sue me, there's cop!andy this time around, why are you still reading tags read the fic man, you can read the og before or after both work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 06:22:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17782229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamyourgodwaitno/pseuds/iamyourgodwaitno
Summary: The story of how Pete, a cop, met Patrick, a mob boss.





	the Life of a Conflicted Cop - the Prequel

**Author's Note:**

> hmm took me long enough

Pete sighed loudly and put his head in his hands, elbows resting on his desk, which was covered in files and papers. All of which were on the heinous Patrick Stump, the youngest mob boss/major league criminal that Chicago had ever seen. According to these files, which Pete had scattered all over his desk in frustration a second ago, Patrick had started his work at the ripe, young age of seventeen. Cut to two years later, he now lead probably the biggest crime ring in the city, earning money off of drugs, weaponry, and many other Illegal Things That A Nineteen-Year-Old Should Not Have Access To. Pete sighed, again, and stood up to leave. He’d had enough Moping Around time for the day. He’d need to get home and rest because of the huge drug bust that he was supposed to be leading tomorrow. 

As he stood up to leave, his best friend and fellow cop, Joe, walked by. “Hey, Pete. I’m heading home. You comin'?”

“Yeah, I guess I have to.” Pete gave another loud sigh and stood up. “I’m doing that drug bust tomorrow, remember?”

“Yes.” Joe didn’t put much effort into his answer. “The one where all your intel is from a probably corrupt cop?” The two of them began walking out of the building.

Pete frowned at Joe. “Hey, you don’t know that.”

Joe just shrugged in response. “Whatever you say, dude. I just don’t trust the dude. Like, I get that you’re completely desperate, cause, ya know, you’ve been after him for ages, but be careful, okay? Stump loves corrupting cops. If you’re not careful, he’ll get you too. I’ve spent enough time in your apartment to know that you are in _desperate_ need of money.”

Pete cracked a grin. “Says the man with the haircut of a homeless trash hobo.” He ruffled Joe’s hair, half surprised when he didn’t come across anything hidden within it.

“Okay, what the fuck is a _homeless trash hobo_?” Joe argued.

Pete shrugged. “Your mom.”

“What are you, twelve?” Joe snorted, as if he weren’t twelve himself.

“Rude,” Pete protested. “I’m twelve and a half.”

“Lies.”

They spent the rest of the walk in silence before they reached the end of their walk together. “Anyways, I’ll see you after the bust tomorrow,” Pete said as a farewell.

“If you make it out uncorrupt. Seriously, you are broke as _shit_. Could say the same for myself, though.” 

Pete laughed. “See ya, Trohman.”

“You too, Wentz.”

Pete opened his front door and headed straight into his room. He was too tired to notice that the previously locked window of his living room was now unlocked, or that the door of his room was approximately 20% less ajar than it was that morning. He didn’t even notice that the stash of candy he kept in one of his drawers was missing a Milky Way. His Super Cop Deduction Skills were really lacking that night.

As Pete lay in bed, he let thoughts swim through his mind before he fell asleep. Granted, it was a little unusual that the man they had on the inside, Andrew Hurley, had gotten so much important information within the short time that he’d been there. But Pete let the desperation take over and ignored every red flag and Joe’s Concerned Friend remarks. But even if it was a trap, Pete was prepared. He had arranged for a very large and well-trained SWAT team to be backing him up here. If this bust was a success, Pete could be known as the cop who took down _the_ Patrick Stump, and once Patrick Stump fell, at least a dozen other crime rings would follow. He grinned at the thought. Yeah, nothing could go wrong.

~~~~~

Except for his assumption that nothing would go wrong. Pete was not at all prepared enough for the ambush. From the moment they entered the disclosed location, they were dead meat. Over a hundred men were hidden in the warehouse, attacking Pete and his team the moment they arrived. Pete yelled at his men, ordering an immediate strategic retreat, or basically to run like hell. Unfortunately, he was a tad too late.

Gunshots and screams were the most prominent sound in the environment. Pete, while shooting down Bad Guys, also had to watch people around him collapse to the ground, blood collecting around fallen bodies. Pete ducked behind a crate, aiming his pistol at the marksmen attacking Pete’s team. He fired, hitting a guy square in the chest. Nice. One down, about a hundred to go. Pete tried. Really. Alas, he was shot in the neck with a tranquiliser of some sort. The last thing he remembered was being among the multiple bodies that hit the floor and a somewhat small man wrapping his arms around his waist and dragging him off to who knows where. God, Pete hated Patrick Stump with all his heart.

~~~~~

Pete was pulled from unconsciousness, blinking in the darkness. He tried to raise a hand to rub his eyes and discovered that he couldn’t. He shifted around slightly, only to discover that he was very tightly strapped to a chair with rope. Terrific. “Hello?” He called, not really expecting a response. He got one, though.

“Hey. You up?” The voice came from somewhere probably across the room. “I’m Andy Hurley. I’m assuming you’re a cop?”

“Pete Wentz,” Pete called back. “You were the guy we put on the inside, right? What happened?”

“Long story short, he knew I was a cop, tried and failed to bribe me, so I ended up here. I’m guessing he sent you some intel from my phone and got you here?”

Pete nodded, before realising that none of them could see each other. “Yeah,” he said, resorting to verbal affirmation. “Well, at least you weren’t a bad cop.”

Pete heard a sigh. “Yep. All I want is to get out of here, though. I miss my wife and dog and daylight, all that.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get out of here soon.” Silence ensued, giving Pete some time to think about how to escape. He needed to either cut himself free or untie himself. Just as he was thinking about how if he strained, his middle finger could kind of brush against a knot, his thoughts were interrupted.

“Hi! Are you guys having a party? Ooh, can I join? Please?” An unknown voice entered the conversation. Abruptly, Pete’s vision went white for a second, before realising that the lights had been turned on. Why couldn’t it have been a solitary lightbulb hanging from the ceiling? The door closed behind the newcomer. Pete’s vision cleared. Simultaneously, his heart dropped. Patrick Stump. 

Fuck.

“Heyyy, Andy,” Patrick said, walking over to him and rubbing his head. “How’s it going? Still up for the money I offered? All you have to do is tell me, then we can make a deal.” A quiet, grumbled, _no, fuck you_ was heard. Patrick exhaled loudly and dramatically. “You are impossible to work with, y’know? I would’ve killed most other people by now. In fact…” Before Pete could process Patrick’s words, the younger man had already pulled a gun out of his pants. No innuendo intended. _Bang_. Blood painted the walls behind Andy, who was now,,, very dead. 

_Fuck_ , Pete repeated in his head, with a tad more panic this time. Fuck, he was going to die alone in a room tied to a chair at the hands of his nemesis and nobody would ever know oh fuck ohfuckohfuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

His poetic internal monologue was interrupted by Stump dropping his gun next to Andy’s now corpse and him walking towards Pete. His surprise doubled when Patrick plopped down in his lap. “Hey, Petey. Mind if I call you Petey, or should I stick to Peter?” After a very, very short moment of hesitation, Pete jerked his head forward in the general direction of Patrick’s nose in an attempt to headbutt him. Patrick dodged, making the both of them almost topple to the ground in the plastic chair Pete was tied to. Patrick wrapped his arms around Pete’s neck to avoid falling off him.

“That was rude.” Patrick frowned for half a second before Pete tried and failed to headbutt Patrick again. Damn, that boy was fast. “C’mon, Petey, I thought we could be friends! Are you even going to talk to me?” The stretch of silence proved that Pete’s answer was no. “Are you mad at me? You are, aren’t you?” Patrick groaned. “God, this is impossible. Why don’t you like me?”

“What do you want?” Pete snapped at the young man who was still sitting in his lap and clinging on tightly to his neck.

“I think the question is,” Patrick started as he swung a leg over so that he was straddling Pete, “What do _you_ want?”

“I,” Pete almost growled, “Want you in cuffs, where you _belong_.”

“Ooh,” Patrick giggled. “Didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff, but I can work with that.”

Pete deeply regretted his choice of words. “You know what I meant, Stump. Now untie me before I find a way to shove this chair up your ass.”

Patrick simply giggled and pressed a kiss to the detective’s cheek. “Good luck with that, Petey.” Pete only grumbled softly when Patrick continued to sprinkle small kisses down his jaw and neck. 

“Stop that. What the hell are you doing?” Pete tried to shift himself away, but the ropes around him interrupted that. _Dammit_. Patrick stood up, arms still wrapped around the older man’s neck. He pressed a kiss to Pete’s forehead and smiled.

“Bye bye. I’ll be back.” And with that, he was gone. Pete was once again submerged into darkness, this time accompanied by the scent of fresh blood. If he didn’t leave, he’d end up just like poor Andy over there. With a grunt, he tipped his chair over. Not his brightest idea, and that was coming from a man who once jumped off a roof holding a beach umbrella, but it was his only idea. He tried to wiggle out of the ropes, which was very quickly proving to be ineffective and giving Pete rope burn. He groaned, realised he had no way out of his current predicament, and decided to stay on the floor and contemplate life. 

~~~~~

Pete was woken again, this time to more lights and a certain mob boss saying, “What the fuck?”

“Uh, hey. You mind, uh, giving me a hand? Help me get out of this chair?” After a moment of contemplation, he added, “I’ll give you a kiss.”

“Deal.” Patrick smiled and adhered to Pete’s terms, making sure to half subtly feel him up. What a creep.

“You’re under arrest. Hands where I can see them.” As soon as he was out of his seat, Pete sprang into action. He realised that he hadn’t really thought that through when he couldn’t find his gun. Of course, Patrick had taken his gun. Pete, however, didn’t give up, using a hopefully more threatening variation of his Awkward Bisexual Finger Guns instead. Patrick laughed and pulled out another gun from his pants. Not an innuendo either. Jesus Christ, how did he fit two guns into his extremely tight jeans?

“We can discuss your side of the deal later. In the meantime, you can go.” Patrick had shifted back into Evil Bad Guy mode, pointing his gun straight at Pete, who had given up on his finger guns in place for putting his hands up and running out.

~~~~~

Pete slammed the door to his apartment, throwing his jacket onto a chair on his way to his bedroom. After he had made his way back, he’d been questioned for hours, both by people who wanted to catch Stump, and Joe, who was currently playing the role of mom friend through asking questions about the bruises that Pete sported on his neck and collarbone. All Pete wanted to do was to go to bed and sleep for twelve hours. Was that too much to ask? 

Yes, probably. Life of a cop, huh? Pete swore he’d left his bedroom door open this morning, or whenever it was when he last left. Nobody had thought to tell him how long he’d been tied to a chair in a dark room. Was Pete being paranoid? _Well, better safe than sorry_ , Pete thought as he grabbed a heavy item he had lying around. Gripping it tightly, he quietly opened the door, only to be met with nothing. Pete scanned the room. Nothing seemed to be off, other than the ever-growing pile of unclean clothes on the floor and… the lump underneath Pete’s sheets. A tuft of strawberry blonde hair was visible on the pillows, sticking out from underneath the covers. _What the fuck?_ With the heavy object still in his hands, he quietly walked over. Dramatically, he yanked the covers off, revealing a now-awake man. “What the fuck?” Pete voiced his thoughts this time.

“Oh. Hey, Pete,” Patrick said, then yawned. “Sorry, I fell asleep waiting for you to come back. What’s up?”

“Get out of my bed.” Pete tried to get the cute mob boss out of his bed, but to no avail. 

“I don’t wanna,” Patrick complained. “It’s really soft. My bed has too many emergency weapons stashed underneath it. The swords are fine, but the baseball bats and molotov cocktail bottles are a bit hard on my back sometimes. Oh damn, I’m going to have back pain when I get older, aren’t I?”

Pete ignored Patrick. “Why are you here, Stump? I could arrest you right now.”

Patrick grinned. “But ya didn’t.” Pete internally groaned. Gen Zs and their Vine references. It made Pete feel old, even though he was still technically a millennial, albeit one that was too busy defending his city to watch vine compilations, no matter how much they might cure his depression.

“Shut up. What are you doing in my bed?” Pete set the heavy object down on a nightstand. “How do you know where I live?”

“Well,” Patrick answered, sitting up so he could look into his eyes with more ease, “I came to talk, but since you took so long to come back from the police station, I borrowed your bed and took a nap. And to answer your second question, well, simply put, I know everything about you.”

Pete was skeptical. “No, you don’t.” 

Patrick raised an eyebrow. _Challenge accepted_. “Your full name is Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the third. Shit name, by the way, and that’s coming from someone named after a saint and a tree. You were born on June 5th in Wilmette, Illinois. Your parents, Dale and Peter Wentz, were a high school admissions counsellor and an attorney. From 1998 to 2002, you were in a band named Arma Angelus with Christopher Gutierrez and Joe Trohman. You have bipolar disorder and have been taking medication for it since you were eighteen. In your early twenties, you attempted suicide-”

“Okay, stop. You’ve proven your point. What do you want?” He stepped closer to the man sitting in his bed, his blanket wrapped around him.

“I just want to talk, Petey. And don’t forget our deal. Is that too much?”

“Yes,” Pete answered sharply. “You’re a fucking mob boss, and I’m a cop.”

Patrick shrugged. “We could just be a gayer iteration of Romeo and Juliet without the death. What’s so wrong with that?”

“‘Without the death’? You just killed a man right in front of me earlier!” Pete didn’t say anything about the Romeo and Juliet bit though, which Patrick picked up on whilst ignoring what Pete did say.

“So you’re down for a forbidden romance? Fun! Come here.” He reached up, arms encircling Pete’s neck, and pulled him down on him. “Kiss me?”

Pete hesitated. He was lying on top of a cute mob boss, and murderer, who was flirting with him. So, like any other cop, he did the logical thing and complied. Just for a little moment. A second later, he pulled away and mentally slapped himself in the face. He’d just kissed his arch-nemesis. What on earth was wrong with him?

Patrick frowned. “Not gonna lie, that was disappointing, especially for a hot cop.”

Pete, fueled by determination to disprove Patrick’s disappointment and pure teen-like horniness, went for another kiss. Almost aggressively, he pressed his mouth to Patrick’s, going for some alteration of a classic french snog. For an evil mob boss, Patrick had really nice lips. Pete flipped them over so that said mob boss would be on top, thighs once again straddling Pete. He continued making out with Patrick, hands wandering downwards from the smaller man’s back to his hips to-

Pete moved away from Patrick. “Are you naked?”

“Yeah.” Patrick’s eyebrows furrowed as he glanced at Pete. “I have been in the nude the entire time you’ve been here. Some detective you are.”

“Well, I was, uh, caught up in other things.” The statement came out as more of a question. 

“Right,” Patrick said, dragging out the _i_. “Hey. Eyes up here, pervert.”

“I wasn’t even…” The protest died as Pete realised that he was, in fact, glancing down at where the sun don’t shine. _Fuck_. Deciding to pretend that didn’t happen, he moved his lips up to kiss Patrick again. “You know what? Stay for tonight. Just think of this as an addition to my side of the deal.”

“Well,” Patrick whispered, fingers dragging along the front of Pete’s shirt, “I hope I’m more than you bargained for.”

**Author's Note:**

> see what i did there hah it's because i couldn't think of an ending. would've written some smut but my irl friend is likely reading this and i don't want to embarrass myself further


End file.
